


The Surrender of Sam Winchester

by RhymePhile



Category: Oz (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Canon, Prison, Rare Pairings, Unrequited Love, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhymePhile/pseuds/RhymePhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After killing a shapeshifter, Sam faces prison when witnesses testify against him. He's sent to Oz, where he learns to survive thanks to long-time inmate Tobias Beecher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surrender of Sam Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Season 6 of _Oz_, and early in Season 2 of _Supernatural_. It's not necessary to be a fan of either show to read this fic. I wrote it so that anyone could understand who was who. There are, however, many pretty boys being discussed. I would recommend looking up the characters to see actors' photos if you're so inclined.
> 
> [This was written](http://oz-magi.livejournal.com/63887.html) for the recent [](http://oz-magi.livejournal.com/profile)[**oz_magi**](http://oz-magi.livejournal.com/) story-gifting celebration.
> 
> [](http://mandysbitch.livejournal.com/profile)[**mandysbitch**](http://mandysbitch.livejournal.com/) had the following request:  
> _Put your favourite character in Oz! I would like to see a crossover with a character from another show/book/movie/whatever in Oz. But they must actually be in Oz as a prisoner, not on the outside, not as a visitor. I don't care who it is, I just like crossovers._

  
The small, windowless room had become stiflingly hot in the short amount of time the men had been sitting there. A desk and three plastic chairs were all that adorned the room, other than the bored corrections officer standing outside the door.

The three men sat huddled together: two brothers in their mid-20s sat on one side, while the defense attorney -- a balding, middle-aged man with glasses -- sat on the other. He shuffled papers endlessly, going back and forth to his briefcase and spreading files in front of him on the table.

The attorney slid his glasses to the top of his forehead and sighed. "I just don't think there's anything else I can do."

"That's it?" the older of the two brothers asked. "That's your answer? That's _bullshit_!" He punctuated his irritation by standing up and slamming his chair against the wall. The CO outside the door glanced over momentarily, and then went back to watching the hall.

"Dean..." He began to stand in order to calm his brother down, but forgot he was handcuffed and shackled, and sat back down again.

"No, Sam. This is your life we're talking about here!"

"Mr. Winchester, we've been over your brother's case a hundred times," the defense attorney said. "I've looked at every angle and loophole I possibly can...I even considered some sort of not-guilty plea by reason of mental disease or defect. But the fact of the matter is that at least five different people saw Sam kill that man, and their testimony has held up in court. The lead detective has produced all the damning evidence, including the gun, but frankly it's the witness testimony that's our main problem."

"This is insane. This can't be happening. Sam, why don't you just explain..."

Sam shook his head and his brother was quiet. "Would you mind letting me speak to my brother alone, Richard?"

The attorney gathered up his papers and piled them back into his briefcase. He looked down at Sam.

"I want to ask for a plea. When you're done here, we need to talk about it."

"Thanks, Richard."

The attorney tapped on the glass of the door and the officer let him out of the room.

After the man left Dean sat back down again. "I don't understand why you won't tell him."

"Tell him what, Dean? That we're Hunters who go out and kill demons, vampires, and creatures that people think are just make-believe? That the man I killed was actually a shapeshifter and needed to die?"

"When you put it that way, maybe we _should_ plea insanity."

"You gonna come visit me in the mental institution?"

"No, I guess we can't do that." He locked eyes with his brother. "The last time we faced one of those shapeshifting bastards I came close to winding up here myself."

"I know."

"So what can we do?"

"I'm not sure."

They sat together in silence for some time, and then Dean finally put his head in his hands.

"Dean?"

"I wish Dad was here."

Sam sighed. "Yeah."

"First degree manslaughter, huh?" Dean asked.

"They say it's because I attacked the shapeshifter with intent to do harm, and he died as a result."

"What does that mean for you?"

"I talk to Richard about plea bargaining."

"That's admitting guilt."

"I know, but I did it, didn't I? They'll never understand why."

Dean shook his head and stood up to begin pacing. "This is all my fault! I should have been looking out for you. Dad made me promise..."

"No. This is _not_ your fault. It's what had to be done. I'd do it again if I had the choice, Dean. Killing the shapeshifter means he won't harm anyone else."

Dean began to protest again but a look from Sam quieted him. He collapsed into the chair next to his brother and folded his arms. "Now what?"

"We wait."

* * *

The gavel seemed to explode across the crowded courtroom, and it became quiet. The judge glanced at the papers before him and peered at the defendant over the top of his glasses.

"Mr. Winchester, do you understand that by accepting this plea agreement you forfeit your ability to be tried before a jury?"

"I do, your Honor."

"By accepting this plea agreement you understand that you admit to being complicit in the death of Melvin Dufrane."

"I do, your Honor."

"Very well. Mr. Winchester, given the fact that you are still a young man and lack a prior record, I am compelled to grant you some leniency when it comes to where you will serve your sentence. There is a maximum security prison based locally that contains an experimental housing unit that emphasizes rehabilitation and responsibility during incarceration. I believe you may be well suited to this type of program."

Dean urgently tapped Richard's shoulder. "What the hell is he talking about? Experimental unit? You said Sam would be in medium security."

"I'm not sure," Richard whispered back.

"Samuel Campbell Winchester, as per your plea agreement, you are hereby sentenced to a minimum of 12 years, with a chance of parole in 10, and not more than a maximum of 25 years, to be served consecutively in Oswald State Correctional Facility."

"Oz?" Dean blurted out, his voice panicked. "You're sending him to Oz?"

The court officers came forward and placed Sam's hands behind his back in cuffs. "Dean? What's the matter? What are you..." Before he could finish, the officers were already leading him to the door on the far side of the courtroom.

"Not Oz! You can't do this! Sam! Sammy! Not Oz, you bastards! Sammy! Sammy!"

"Dean!"

The last thing Sam heard before the officers shut the courtroom door behind him was Dean's voice ringing in his ears.

* * *

"Inmate 06W110, Winchester, Samuel C."

Sam was sitting on a bench in Oswald's holding area, with his newly-issued folded blanket, pillow, cup, and toothbrush in his lap. His gunmetal gray uniform was a one-piece jumpsuit with buttons down the front. Over his left breast was a white tag where his prison number was stitched in black.

"Inmate 06W110, Winchester, Samuel C."

In a daze looked over at his number tag, and then realized the officer in the front of the room was calling for him.

"Here. Inmate 06W110."

"Get over here, Winchester. You got shit in your ears?"

"No. I mean, no, sir."

"I'm not a 'sir,' Winchester. Officer Murphy works fine."

"Yes, sir, Officer Murphy."

Murphy rolled his eyes and motioned to another inmate standing near him. "Beecher, c'mere."

The man was only about a head shorter than Sam, blue-eyed, with longish blonde hair that had begun to touch the base of his neck. He was slim, yet had defined arms and a toned chest, obviously a result of lifting weights. He was wearing a light blue T-shirt tucked into his cotton work pants.

"Winchester, this is Tobias Beecher. You're his new podmate, and he's been assigned to guide you through Emerald City."

"Podmate?"

"Bring your stuff, I'll explain when we get there," Beecher said. "Oh, and stay close to me."

From the holding area they were guided through a long hallway, and then into the common area of the cellblock. Emerald City, as it was known, was the unit within Oz that had been unit manager Tim McManus's brainchild. He wanted to have a place where prisoners could come together and rehabilitate rather than rot in prison.

Despite years of good intentions, Em City was no safer and no more rehabilitated than the rest of general population within the prison. In many ways it was worse.

As they made their way across the common area, there were hoots and hollers from the other prisoners. Some were sitting at tables playing cards or checkers, while others were watching TV with headphones on. Once they saw Sam the calls became louder and more intense.

"Just ignore them," Beecher advised.

Despite a childhood where violence, weapons, and being tough went hand in hand, nothing could have prepared Sam for the realities of a place like Oz.

The cell block was two tiers high, and where there should have been bars were Plexiglas walls. Corrections officers could walk by and see right into the "pods" whenever they wanted. Between the two tiers in the center of the room was the control area, where COs locked and opened the pods, and controlled the lights and other facilities necessary to the daily workings of Em City.

Sam followed Beecher to the pod in the far right corner of the ground floor tier, and then stood and waited.

"You get the bottom bunk."

Sam unfolded his blanket and put the pillow down. "Where should I..."

"Put the toothbrush in the cup and set it over there on the sink."

He did so, then he sunk down onto the bunk. When he lay down he realized his feet hung over the edge. Sam put his arm over his face and exhaled deeply. This was it. For the next 10 years at least, this was his reality.

"What did you say your first name was again?"

Sam sat up. "I didn't. It's Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Tobias Beecher. This is pretty easy. They tell you when to get up, when to eat, when to shower. Everything else in between is equal parts boredom and agony."

"Okay..."

Beecher went for the door. "Don't leave shit in the toilet. Clean up after yourself. Don't get in my way. Don't borrow anything from anybody, and don't incur debts. Don't insert yourself into conversations. Don't stare. Don't try to be friendly. Do what they tell you to, and you may make it out of here alive."

Sam grinned at him, thinking his last comment was a joke, but Beecher didn't smile back.

* * *

As Beecher later explained, Sam had come to Oz at a time when the prison was changing. There had been some sort of prison-wide emergency a few years ago that resulted in the evacuation of all inmates -- Beecher wouldn't elaborate -- and since then the climate had altered dramatically.

Beecher said the prison population was much more divided and fractured now than it had been, but that Sam didn't have to worry about sexual assault like Beecher did when he first arrived, back in 1997. He wouldn't tell Sam any more than that.

And despite being cellmates (or podmates, which Sam learned was the correct term), Beecher had little to say to Sam when they first roomed together. He would answer questions when posed, tried to tell Sam which toilets were reserved for which of the races, explained the proper place to sit in the cafeteria, and kept Sam informed so that he wouldn't get harmed.

A month into his sentence, an inmate had come up to Sam and threatened him if he didn't turn over his canteen card. This was a refillable card used instead of cash, issued to inmates to allow them to buy things like candy or soup from the prison store. The inmate would threaten Sam every day, until he finally cornered Sam coming from the laundry room. Years of training and self-defense techniques took over, and Sam knocked the man out cold.

He paid for defending himself, however. In addition to an extra six months added to his sentence, Sam was also placed into the Hole. He was stripped naked and thrown into the cold, wet, blackness of the tiny cement room with nothing but a bucket for a week.

The other fallout from the fight was his loss of visitation privileges. Dean hadn't been able to visit right away because of prison regulations, so when Sam got involved in the incident with the other inmate his visitation rights were revoked. It wasn't until two months later that Sam was able to see his brother.

When they finally saw each other the meeting was brief, as regulations stipulated. Sam had been the one to console his brother, telling him not to worry and to carry on hunting. Dean, on the other hand, had trouble fighting back tears.

Eventually Sam settled into the routine monotony of prison existence -- keeping his eyes open and his fists ready -- and every day became exactly like the others, with one small exception: Beecher had begun to talk to him.

Sam did exactly what Beecher told him to do, kept out of his way, and cleaned up after himself in the pod. Sam figured that Beecher had finally begun to trust him enough to open up. While his days remained relatively the same, the time after lights out allowed Sam to relax and remember what it was like before Oz.

Sam only talked to a few other prisoners, one of them a lifer by the name of Bob Rebadow. Rebadow had been in Oz since the '60s, and had gotten to know Beecher fairly well. While Rebadow wasn't willing to give Sam all of Tobias Beecher's history, he did explain to him that Beecher had never been as cold and distant as he was now. Oz had changed him, and Rebadow suggested Sam proceed cautiously.

So Sam started talking to Beecher about general stuff -- books, music -- until Beecher discovered Sam had wanted to go into law. It had been years since Beecher had practiced law, but that common ground allowed the two men to connect on other topics. It was also obvious that Beecher enjoyed talking with an intellectual equal, despite Sam's age. Enriching conversation didn't happen often in a world where most men had barely finished high school.

Now they talked every night, something Sam relished, and had come to know each other on a first-name basis. Beecher insisted Sam call him Toby; Sam couldn't get Toby to call him anything other than Sammy. Every night for the past two months they had chatted about everything under the sun, and Sam felt he had gained a true friend.

* * *

"I ditched Richard."

Dean and Sam were sitting together in Em City's visiting room, sharing fries over cheeseburgers with everything on them. Sam ate slowly, his stomach more used to bland, tasteless prison food than the rich burger his brother was scarfing down.

"What do you mean, 'ditched'?"

"I mean I called Bobby and asked if he knew of any lawyers that could help. Hunters must have butted heads with the law a time or two, y'know?"

"And?"

"And we have a new guy who's going to file an appeal on your behalf."

"What's an appeal going to do?" Sam asked, laboring over a fry. "All those people saw it happen."

"It could buy us time and get you out of this shithole, Sammy."

Sam smiled at his brother's use of his nickname.

"Whuh?" Dean asked between a mouthful of burger.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. I forgot about what it sounds like coming from you."

"Me calling you Sammy? You hate when I call you that."

"I've kind of gotten used to it. My cellmate calls me Sammy."

Dean looked at him. "Your cellmate."

"Yeah. Toby, er, Tobias Beecher. He's kept an eye on me since I got here, made sure I didn't get hurt."

"Uh huh."

"What? He's a friend."

"You don't make friends in prison, especially not in here."

"Oh, please. I've been here for months! I don't need a lecture..."

"Maybe you do, Sam. He's been keeping an eye on you? You better make sure that's all he does."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Dean grabbed his arm. "Sammy, listen to me, okay? Do you know what it's been like with you in here? I've been trying to find every possible way to get you out! I can't sleep. I keep worrying that something's going to happen and I won't be there for you..."

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said, taking his brother's other arm. "I'm careful. I look out for myself, and so does Beecher. Besides, you taught me everything I need to know about defending myself, right?"

"The monsters in here are worse."

"I know, man. I don't want you to worry."

"Do you need anything?"

"A beer would be great."

Dean laughed and stood up. "Be good, Sammy. I'll visit again as soon as I can."

The two men hugged, and Sam went back into Em City.

* * *

That night as they both lay on their bunks Beecher spoke.

"Sammy, you still up?"

Sam turned over on his side and looked up at the bed above him. "Yeah, Toby."

"Who was that guy in the visiting room today?"

"My brother, Dean."

"Ah. Really. Have a good visit?" he asked, hopping down.

"Yeah," Sam answered, sitting up. "Dean found another lawyer and they're going to appeal."

"That's great news."

"I guess. I don't know how much good it's going to do. Five people saw me do it and testified to that fact in court."

"Never underestimate the abilities of a good lawyer."

"He's going to have a real challenge on his hands."

"What else did you guys talk about?"

"Cars. Dean's...job. Other stuff, you know." Sam recalled Dean admonishing him about his relationship with Toby. "He's worried about me."

"He's your big brother?"

Sam nodded.

"Typical big brother shit. I got the same thing from mine. You're doing fine on your own."

"That's what I tried to tell him."

Toby put his hand on Sam's head. "Did you tell him I was looking out for you?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair back from Sam's forehead.

Sam flinched and pulled away. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, Sam," Toby replied, backing away and returning to the top bunk.

"I'm not...I'm not that way."

"I understand."

"I'm not," Sam repeated.

"Stranger things have happened in Oz, Sammy," Toby said, his voice muffled now that he had turned over to face the wall. "And now I know who the cuter brother is."

"What?"

But Tobias was already asleep.

* * *

The next afternoon Sam found Bob Rebadow and his podmate Agamemnon Busmalis playing checkers in the common area. Busmalis, who was a few years younger than Rebadow, was wearing his trademark tan fishing hat and fiddling with the brim prior to each move.

"Rebadow, can I ask you a question?"

"Too many questions can be unhealthy around here," Busmalis muttered.

"Sit down, Sam," Rebadow said, gesturing to the chair next to him. "What's on your mind?"

"I need to know something about Tob...Beecher."

"I'll say what I can."

"Is he gay?" Sam asked.

Both Busmalis and Rebadow chuckled at the question.

"Should I take that as a yes?" Sam asked.

"Go ahead, Bob," Busmalis broke in. "Tell him the story. He's dead anyway."

"Who's dead?"

"I'll do this for you because you're new and you seem like a good kid, Sam. But I haven't lived this long in Oz by talking about all the inmates that have passed through here over the years," Rebadow said.

"He could write a book," Busmalis said, concentrating on his checker move.

"I won't breathe a word to anyone else. I live with the guy. I just want to know."

"Years ago Beecher had this fellow named Chris Keller as his podmate. They had an acrimonious relationship to say the least, but like everything in here, days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, and they fell in love."

"That guy was a nut. Had pecs out to _here_," Busmalis said, holding his arms in front of him.

"Shut up, Busmalis. Anyway, Sam, long story short: Beecher was married with kids on the outside. When you get in here, life changes. They found something in each other. It seemed to me those two fought more than they loved, but Tobias had a hard time getting over Keller's death. He was depressed for quite a while."

"He got grumpy," Busmalis added.

"I suppose," agreed Rebadow. "He's been cold and closed off since then. Well, until you came along, that is."

"He seems less grumpy now," said Busmalis.

Sam thought about that. "How did this Keller die?" he asked.

"Broke his neck falling from the top tier," Busmalis helpfully told him.

"That's an even _longer_ story," Rebadow explained.

"You said they found something in each other. What do you think that was?"

Rebadow put his hand in his chin. "Who's to say? Love is a mysterious thing."

"It was probably his pecs," muttered Busmalis.

* * *

About two weeks later Sam was in the cafeteria when his life in Oz took another turn. He had learned from both Toby and the old timers the exact places he was allowed to sit, so as not to offend any of the ethnic groups that staked out tables for themselves. He had just finished something resembling green bean casserole when one of the Hispanics came and sat down across from him.

"You don't look like you're enjoying that tasty dessert, skinny boy. I think you should let me have it."

The dessert in question was an off-color fruit cup that smelled awful. Sam didn't really want to eat it, but in Oz he had to claim what little they gave him, and he was ready to fight for it.

"I don't think so," Sam replied, not looking up from his lunch.

"I don't know if you heard me. I said I wanted your dessert."

Sam looked up now and stared right into the other man's eyes. "And I said no."

The fist across his jaw came much quicker than he expected. His head rocked back from the blow, sending his tray flying across the table. The other inmate jumped up and walked across the top of the table, jumping down onto Sam's side and landing another punch, this time to Sam's nose.

Blood spurted across his face as he put his hands up to cover his head. He blocked a roundhouse punch and then connected solidly with the other inmate's chin.

By this time the inmates in the cafeteria were shouting and cheering, banging their hands or trays on the tabletops. Corrections officers began scrambling, but first they had to get through the mob of raucous inmates.

Sam's nose was bleeding so profusely that he had to spit to prevent himself from swallowing it. The man swung a chair at him, connecting with Sam's shoulder. Sam toppled over across another lunch table, landing on his feet and blocking yet another blow. Then the man jumped on top of him and went for his throat.

Sam was being strangled, and because the man was sitting on his chest, he couldn't get his arms up to throw him off. In the midst of his panic, Sam saw Toby come up behind the Hispanic inmate and smash the back of his head with a plastic lunch tray.

The man staggered and released Sam, and then Toby hit him again, and then a third time even after the man collapsed to the floor. Toby reached down and picked Sam up.

By then the COs had pushed their way through the throng of shouting inmates, grabbed both Sam and the other inmate, and placed their arms behind their backs.

Before he was shoved out the cafeteria door, he was able to catch the look on Toby's face -- one of fear, anger, and absolute protectiveness.

* * *

This time Sam spent three weeks in the Hole, and by the time Dr. Nathan was allowed to see him his face had become a bruised and swollen mess.

When his punishment was finished, Officer Murphy tossed him a change of clothes early one morning. "You gonna to behave now, Winchester?"

"That fight wasn't even my fault," he growled, gingerly pulling the shirt over his head. His shoulder still ached from being hit with the chair.

"I don't care who started it. Neither does anyone else. You get into a fight, you get the Hole. End of story."

"It's bullshit."

"Yeah? It's the rules. Deal with it."

Sam shuffled from the corridor back into the common area of Em City. Some of the inmates actually patted him on the back as he passed by, a curious example of how he was able to build respect in Oz. It all came with breaking the rules.

He found Toby sitting on the bottom bunk, reading.

"Jesus," Toby exclaimed when Sam entered the pod. "Did they clean you up at all?"

"A week after they threw me in there."

Toby got up and held Sam's elbow. "C'mere and sit down."

Sam gratefully sat on the thin mattress, glad to have his lumpy bunk back after three weeks of cold nakedness.

He heard water running in the sink. "I'll be right back," Toby said.

A few minutes later he returned with one of Oz's most sought-after possessions: ice. He wrapped the plastic bag with a wet washcloth and bent down next to Sam.

Toby gently put his fingertips to Sam's chin. "Let me see."

Sam looked up at him.

"Here. It's been a while but maybe we can get some of the swelling down."

Toby sat down next to him on the bunk and held the rag to Sam's cheek. Sam winced and sucked air through his teeth, but the ice felt soothing against his battered face.

"Toby..."

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Thanks for helping me. Y'know, during the fight."

"I said I'd look out for you."

"But you didn't have to defend me the way you did."

"Of course I did."

"No," Sam argued, "you didn't. I know there's something else."

Toby shrugged. "I didn't want to see you get hurt."

Sam pushed Toby's hand back from his cheek. "I saw the look on your face."

"What look?"

"You wanted to kill that guy for touching me."

Toby tried for a disbelieving chuckle, but it was obvious to Sam he was lying.

"Toby..."

But the other man wouldn't look at him.

Then Sam grabbed the collar of Toby's shirt and pulled him into a fierce kiss. Toby offered up a small squeak of surprise, but when Sam deepened the kiss he moaned and wrapped his fingers in Sam's hair.

Their tongues clashed, and teeth scraped against lips. Toby threw one leg over Sam's thigh to get closer. Sam could feel Toby straining under his thin cotton pants, getting harder as Sam pushed his tongue deeper into the other man's mouth.

Sam allowed the feeling and the sensation and the _heat_ to pulse through him. His heart felt like it would explode from his chest, he was shaking so hard. He had never touched a man like this before. Hell, he had never even been this _close_ to another man like this before. Sam took a deep breath, slid his hand around Toby's waist, and surrendered to his emotions.

He drank Toby in; kissing him roughly, passionately, unlike he had ever allowed himself to do with a woman before. He felt the strength of the man next to him and it heightened his need. Strong, unbreakable, unyielding...finally he found the bulge in Toby's pants and ran his hand along the hardness there.

Toby hissed and whimpered, and buried his face in Sam's neck. "Sam...Sammy..."

Sam slid his hand under Toby's shirt and nibbled at Toby's ear.

"We have to...Sam, we have to wait."

"Wait? For what?" Sam gasped, sitting up.

"For tonight. For lights out."

From the overwhelming fog of sexual sensation, Sam cleared his head and realized it was still early morning in the middle of Em City.

He looked at Toby, his hair tangled and face flushed, and laughed.

* * *

It was about 2 o'clock that afternoon when Murphy came looking for him.

"Winchester, Samuel. Inmate number 06W110. This is him."

Sam and Toby, who had been playing chess, looked at each other in confusion.

"What's going on?" Toby whispered urgently.

Sam could only shrug at the sight of Murphy, two other COs, and a tall man in a blue suit.

"Let's go, Winchester. And bring your stuff."

"My stuff?"

"You got shit in your ears again? This kid, I swear. Let's _go_."

"But..."

The man in the blue suit stepped from behind Murphy. "Mr. Winchester, I'm Ephram Ellis, your new attorney. I have some outstanding news."

"You get to get outta here, Winchester," Murphy smiled. "How about that?"

"I...what?" Sam asked, alarmed. He looked from Ellis to Toby, who was sitting on his bunk with a look of confusion on his face.

"Mr. Winchester, through the help of your brother, Bobby Singer, and...other methods, we were able to prove to the court that Melvin Dufrane in fact faked his own death. You have been exonerated."

"Exonerated."

"It means you can get the fuck outta here," Murphy added helpfully. "Now get your stuff and let's go. You have a court appointment."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" Sam asked.

"As Officer Murphy informed me, you were placed in administrative segregation for three weeks. Your brother wasn't able to contact you."

"Oh my God, Sammy," Toby whispered.

"Toby..."

"Winchester, I'm not gonna tell you again. C'mon."

In a daze, Sam grabbed what few meager items he owned -- two books, an extra pair of shoes, toiletries -- and stumbled from the pod.

* * *

The Impala roared across the two-lane highway, its engine taking every shift in gear with ease. Dean had washed her, _again_, and they were on their way to a report of a mysterious creature seen stalking the woods of Arkansas. Dean thought it might be a were-creature.

The guitar riffs of Angus Young began to fill the car until Dean reached over to turn down the volume.

"You haven't said a thing for miles," Dean stated.

Sam turned to him and shrugged. "Just thinkin'."

"If it makes you feel any better, once Bobby found out Melvin Dufrane had shapeshifted himself to make it look like you killed him, we, y'know, went out and killed him."

"It doesn't make me feel better, actually."

"Dammit, Sam, it's been weeks since you've been out of Oz."

"I know."

"It's not like you to be so quiet."

"I know."

Dean sighed. "Well, little brother, when you feel like talking, I'm here."

Sam reached over to turn the music back up, and the brothers continued down the highway in silence.  



End file.
